"H'm! Queer people, fathers," said Roland with a laugh, in which his visitor joined right heartily. "You think so, do you? Wait till you get to my age, and you'll be still more of that opinion. At least, if you're not it'll be for no want of telling." They chatted for a few minutes longer, and then the rector rose. "I hope you'll come and dine with us some evening," he said in his easy genial way. "There'll be only ourselves, and we shall be delighted to see you. Let me see--why not come to-night--that is, if you have nothing better to do?" "Nothing will give me greater pleasure." "Very good. Then this evening at seven. Now I must say good-bye, for I have to rush about all the morning. So glad to make the acquaintance of a friend of Venn's." When the rector had gone, Roland was so preoccupied with recalling the strong family likeness existing between his companion on the beach and his departing visitor, that he quite overlooked the fact that the latter had made no reference whatever to Cranston; rather a strange thing, under the circumstances. "Well, sir, and our rector's a nice pleasant gentleman, isn't he?" remarked the landlady, while laying the cloth an hour later. "He is indeed, Mrs Jenkins. Been here long?" "Nigh upon sixteen years. Miss Margaret and Miss Olive were little then, and Miss Sophie were a baby. They do say as Dr Ingelow was dreadful cut up when he lost his poor lady." "Oh, he's a widower then?" "Yes, sir. His lady died shortly before he came here, I've heard tell. But law bless you, sir, Miss Margaret, she did for all the younger ones as though she was a grown-up young lady." "How many of them are there--daughters, I mean?" "Three, sir. You must have seen them in church, in the front seat of all. Not on the side of the heagle--the other side." "Oh!" "Yes, and they're that good--although the two younger ones, leastways, are merry and fond of a bit of mischief. Why when Jenkins broke his leg"--and the good woman launched out into a dissertation after the manner of her kind, straying far away from the goodness of the parson's daughters, which Jenkins' broken leg was hauled in to illustrate--far away even from that fractured, but once more useful, member itself into a great cloud of reminiscence, wherein the speaker's uncle's deceased wife's sister's third cousin once removed and a certain tom-cat endowed with marvellous properties largely figured. Her auditor gave a weary sigh. In the hope of finding out more about his new acquaintance, he had let the woman's tongue run on, and found, like the ingenious Oriental who invented a steamboat, that having once set it going he was unable to stop it.